


Martyr

by pints (MegCapet)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegCapet/pseuds/pints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alberto hates Alex for everything he's done to him.</p><p>Written in early 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Martyr

Alex laughs at Alberto’s mildly dirty talk, grabs his teammate’s face and pulls him into a warm, childish kiss. There is no tongue, no teeth, just lips and a little too much spit. And though they’re in the shower and their naked bodies are inches from each other, Alex still manages to look like an innocent school boy. Alberto isn’t sure the little one understands that this isn’t what “Gila” wants. He wants to tie up this little bastard and fuck him until he cries. He doesn’t want to DATE the Duck; he wants to make him bleed.

Paolo warns him to be gentle and slips a few condoms into his bag. Alberto makes a personal promise not to use them. What exactly is his captain afraid of?! He can’t get the Duck pregnant or anything! Yes, Alberto has taken to calling Alex ‘the Duck’ even in his mind. It makes it easier to imagine tearing…

Alex is there again, smiling at him, covering up that perfect body with a strange youthful modesty. While the older boys have given up almost completely on towels, the Duck wraps one around his middle with a blush and changes facing his locker, not realizing that the others are more interested in his ass anyway. Alberto peaks over, letting himself get caught. Alex bites his lip, but shifts a little closer. Alberto smiles, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the Duck invites him home.

Alberto would never fuck his boy in the bed he shares with Alice. He loves her too much. She’s the only one who has ever loved him, he figures. Luca has left him for that bastard Frenchman and his scars. Marco only wants a quick blowjob and knows that Alberto will always swallow. The Duck must invite Alberto to his home for this to happen. The Duck has to want Alberto that much. It’s been two weeks since Alberto decided he wanted this. He didn’t count on this boy being just as sweet and naïve as they said. He almost expected him to be like the others, eager to suck the cock of whatever “superstar” they could. 

Alberto is horrified for a second by thought that perhaps it is his status as an out-of-form, shit striker that is keeping those pretty lips away from his … no, no. That couldn’t be it. Alberto knows for a FACT that the Duck hasn’t even been on his knees for Paolo fucking Maldini. He must be a new breed, one that actually expects something from a relationship. Alberto wants to roll his eyes, but Alex is staring again and blushing and he’s planned too long to ruin it.

“Do you want to drive me home?” The Duck still doesn’t have a driver’s license despite having a couple cars to his name.

Alberto nods and forces himself to smile.

On the drive back, the only words they exchange are the directions to a stylish apartment building. Alberto almost laughs. Marco has a room here that the Inter man keeps just so the two of them can escape somewhere and… well, they certainly don’t want to deal with inquisitive hotel managers every time Marco has a hard on. When Alberto is horny, he uses his hand. Marco never comes when Alberto calls. It has always been this way and it will never change.

“Walk me to the door?”

Alex is already out of the car, nervously shifting from foot to foot, trying to hide this little shuffle by stepping on and off the curb. Alberto gets out of the car and slams the door a little harder than the meant to. He can feel that heat rising up in him again. Sometimes it happens when he looks at the Duck for too long. He starts to see the headlines in the back of his mind and that’s when it comes. It isn’t fair and that’s why… that’s why this one needs to be put in his place. Alberto presses his lips together and actually reaches out for Alex’s jacket before he can stop himself (“Let me. Lead the way.”)

Alex’s apartment is immaculately decorated and Alberto can’t help but wondered how much Milan paid to make this disgusting little bastard feel comfortable in his new home. Did Milan do this for him?! (Well, yes.. Yes they did, but at the moment, Alberto is busy painting the entire room green with envy , convincing himself that everything in the Duck’s place is six times nicer than anything Milan ever did for him.) Alex brushes his fingers down the back of Alberto’s bare arm, making the Italian shiver. Alberto burns with fury for a second. He doesn’t want to shiver for this boy. He wants to make him hurt. Don’t be irrational, he whispers to himself. You have to keep your cool. You’re already inside. He’ll never see it coming.

“Do you want something to drink?”

The Duck pours him too cheap wine into a coffee mug. Alberto only takes a sip, but it makes him feel stronger. Alex doesn’t touch his, can’t tear his eyes off Alberto and Alberto knows it. It feels good to be wanted like this, Alberto realizes. The boy admitted weeks ago, in a rather poorly planned team bonding exercise, that he’d only ever kissed boys during awkward celebration moments. This explains why the kiss in the showers was so… spitty. Alberto wants to laugh, but can’t ruin this. God, he’s so close he can feel himself twitching.

“Do you want …”

Alberto says yes without letting the Duck finish his question and Alex clears the cups from the table and cocks his head for Alberto to follow. He does follow and just as he suspected, the Duck leads him to the bedroom. It’s blue. The walls are clean and the bed is made. For some reason, this shocks Alberto. He isn’t sure what he expected to find. Maybe white walls covered in every newspaper clipping that even vaguely mentioned the Brazilian wonder kid. Maybe Alberto envisioned this room as the place where Pato (he spits the name even when he whispers it in his mind) goes to masturbate over the latest raving article or interview. He wanted this room to be messy and to smell a little like old boots. He wanted to find some imperfection in Alex’s perfect world. 

“Are we going to… those things you said in the shower…You were joking, right?”

Alberto doesn’t respond. Alex knows the answer.

“I don’t usually…”

“Shut up.”

They are the first words that he has really registered coming out of his mouth since the kiss in the shower. Everything else seemed to be on delay, but this is in real time and when the words are finished and Alex’s mouth has pressed itself shut, Alberto’s hands are on the boy’s shoulder and he’s against the wall. 

“What are you do--”

Alberto cuts him off with a kiss he didn’t know was coming. Alberto hadn’t planned to kiss him. Kissing seemed so intimate and all Alberto wanted was to fuck this boy and tear him open. There was no love in this plan, no gentleness, nothing but all the anger than Alberto was feeling about this boy who had stolen his spot, about Luca who had left him, about Marco who fucked his mouth without a kind word, about his own miserable form and the bastards in the press who said he was a failure and all of that. All of that was the Duck and Gila, GILA wanted to force all of it to the ground and make it beg him to stop. But those lips tasted so good and the Duck was actually sighing against him and it makes Alberto tingle something that isn’t anger.

“’Berto…?”

Alberto slips his hands down the boy’s arms and grabs his wrists tightly and practically drags him to the bed, pushing him down and lying on top of him, pining him, wanting him to feel everything that he is making Alberto’s feel through the rough fabric of his jeans.

“’Berto?”

No one calls him that but Luca. Luca has always called him that. Luca called him that the day he called him so they could ‘talk’ about Franck and what that meant for Them. It was the last thing Luca said before Alberto had slammed the phone shut, eyes burning with tears. (“Berto?” SLAM. He remembered it like it was yesterday.)

“I’m never… is it going to hurt?”

Hell yes, it’s going to hurt! Alberto wants to scream it. This is the boy who invaded his life. He couldn’t pick the newspaper with this BOY’s stupid braces shining back at him and that perfect, young smile. Alberto feels old just looking at him, still awkward like a schoolboy. He had to stop reading the paper with breakfast because that same story over and over again… it made him want to swallow acid.

“Berto, please? Just be…”

Alberto drowns out the last word by listening to the beating of his own heart in his ears and the scratching of his nails against the Duck’s jeans. The zipper gives him a little trouble, mostly because he can hardly see for all the horny haze that has come over him. This makes him want to vomit more than anything. This boy is making him feel more… more than anyone has since Luca left for Germany. It’s embarrassing. It’s sick. It’s…

Alex moans as Alberto’s fingers brush his cock for the first time. It’s a self-conscious moan, cut off when Alex realizes how loud he was. He giggles and leans up and steals a kiss. Alberto fights the urge to spit it back at him and slips his hand deeper inside, past the elastic band of those expensive as all hell briefs, wrapping his thick fingers around the shaft. The heat occurs to him. The fact that Alex is almost halfway done and they aren’t even undressed yet occurs to him. But the only thing that sticks out in his mind is the obvious fact that Alex is bigger than he is. Longer and a little thicker and Alberto is sure he’s going to scream for it all. 

Alex is making noises like Alberto has never heard. These are the sort of desperate whimpers that you should only hear in porn, when the person is paid to make it sound like their about to explode. But here he is, his eyes closed tightly, biting his lip, begging for anything and Alberto isn’t even out of his pants. He runs his thumb over the boy’s leaking head, already wet. Alex pushes his hips up to meet him, his eyes fluttering open and desperate. Alberto takes his hand out immediately and stands up. Alex looks like he’s about to lose it.

Alberto calms himself with a deep breath and a glance at the ceiling. His jeans are gone when he looks back at Alex. The Brazilian’s eyes are fixed on Alberto’s cock and the dark brown curls around it. He doesn’t seem to notice that his own is … simply better, like everything about the almighty Pato. Alberto smiles to himself and makes a show of removing his shirt, moves which the boy tries to imitate, but ends up twisting himself in his sleeves in his eagerness. Alberto helps him out with a quick tug and Alex comes up blushing terribly, not sure where to put his hands. 

“What do you want me to…”

Alberto puts a finger over the boys lips, “Don’t talk.”

Alex swallows, the blush just growing deeper. Alberto places a hand in the center of his chest and pushes him back down on the bed, insisting. Alex makes a few rather pathetic noises as Alberto presses himself back on top of the boy, attacking his chest with tongue and kisses. His nipples are a deep brown and Alberto bites one for lack of a better idea, making the Brazilian hiss a little, pushing his hips up to meet Alberto’s, seeking pleasure rather than pain. He laughs to himself and licks at it soothingly. Alex whispers something that Alberto can’t understand and that makes him burn again. He scrapes his teeth over the pert nub, just for that.

“Gila… Berto, please! I don’t think I can…”

Alberto could have sworn he told him not to talk. Marco never lets Alberto talk. The minute he forces Alberto onto his knees there is no use for words anymore. Marco’s cock is thick and he needs to get back to his family. Alberto has grown to love the urgency with which the ritual must be completed. Marco’s come is the only thing that matters. That and the cold soda that Marco always buys for him before they drive over to the apartments. Alberto supposes this is how Marco, in all his unrefined glory, makes up for not being “gay” enough to get on his knees for another man, but loving the feel of his “Gila’s” unshaven cheek against his cock. 

Alberto rakes his nails down Alex’s chest to his stomach. His abs are more defined than Alberto’s. Just another injustice. Alberto knows for a fact that he works much harder in training than the boy does. His diet is more strict. The boy eats ICE CREAM, for fuck’s sake. Yes yes, another injustice. Alberto traces the lines of muscles with his tongue, laughing when the tip of the Duck’s cock hits his chin. He didn’t mean to laugh, because now Alex thinks he’s enjoying this. He’s not, he reminds himself, this is the Duck’s punishment. This is the sick, depraved way that this boy must pay for what he’s done. Yes. That’s all it is.

Alberto slips a hand between the boy’s legs and pushes his thighs open further. Alex gasps a little and lifts his head to watch the other man go to work. Alberto nibbles at the long vein on the underside of the boy’s cock. This is one thing Alberto knows he’s better at than Pato (spit) will every be. Alberto knows he gives glorious head. Even Donadoni has praised that skill of his, where his other skills (if they even exist, a notion Alberto is starting to entertain) go unnoticed. The best most of his lovers will ever have. He prides himself on this. He isn’t just good at it, he loves it too. It’s his one secret that he can never tell a soul. He loves the feeling (the wrong, terribly terribly wrong feeling) of having another man’s cock down his throat. He even loves the sickly salty taste of come and the sounds that men make when they feel their entire body shiver and shake and empty down that pretty mouth he knows he possess. The Duck will never take that from him at the very least. 

The boy is already starting to shiver and this too makes Alberto smile. He takes the tip in his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. Alex’s eyes are wide and this is when Alberto realizes that the boy wasn’t lying. He really never has had more than a few awkward celebratory kisses. Alberto isn’t cruel, so he takes the boy deeper. This is going to be delicious, he decides. He’ll be the first to hear the sounds this boy makes when he is emptied. Alberto presses his tongue hard against the underside and swallows him down until he feels the tip hitting the back of his throat. He swallows again. 

Alex lets his head fall back and his legs start to shake a little, “I can’t… Berto, I’m… I can’t…”

Alberto swallows again, lifting a hand to stroke his balls, and Alex is done. The boy groans something delicious and it’s hot and salty and bitter down Alberto’s throat. Alberto knows this is supposed to be a punishment, but he can’t help taking pleasure in the softening of Alex’s penis on his tongue and the last desperate shudders before Alex is lying wasted on bed, used up. Alberto is still hard and this is what he’s been waiting for. This pleasure glutted Duck is going to take it and really, what is he going to do about it? Half of his brain is surely beyond working at this point. That was the plan.

Alberto sits up and smiles, slipping his hand up between the boy’s cheeks, spreading him apart slowly.

“No, Berto… please…”

Luca is the only one that calls him ‘Berto’.

Alberto presses his finger up inside as much as he can. No lube, no spit, nothing. It isn’t far, but it’s enough to make Alex squirm a little. 

“Berto, please! I’ve never… I don’t!”

Alberto doesn’t listen, doesn’t have to. It’s his turn now. His cock is still hard and leaking and Alex’s come is already gone. The exchange has already been made.

“Berto, I’ll… anything, please!”

Alberto rolls his eyes and turns the boy over on to his back. He is sure that the Duck is just as strong as he is and could fight back if he really wanted. The sick bastard wants this just as much as Alberto does and there is no point in denying it. He must know somewhere in his heart that he deserves this! He took ‘Gila’s’ spot! He fucked up everything Alberto had and spat it in his face with every smile, every goal in every practice, every blushing glance. BASTARD!

Alberto spreads the boy open and runs his tongue over Alex’s hole. He didn’t bring lube. Alex surely doesn’t have any. Spit will have to do and the pain is the punishment. When the Duck can’t score tomorrow, people will have doubts. It will be perfect. It will just like Alberto planned. And this boy… he’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone the real reason he can hardly move without wincing. 

Alex is still whispering his name when Alberto slips his tongue just inside, along with a first spitty finger, then a second. Alberto can’t tell if he’s crying yet; the boy’s breathing is still insanely steady for someone who is supposedly so worried. Alberto presses on finger against Alex’s prostate and moans softly at the sounds it brings out the boy. Alex takes a sharp breath and begs him to do it again. Alberto, lost in a moment, high on the thought that he is finally doing something right and someone needs him, wants him, brushes his finger over the spot again. Alex’s legs tense and shiver. It’s almost beautiful. 

Alberto pulls his fingers out without warning, spitting into his hands and rubbing his cock over. It is going to hurt. The boy is going to cry and he’s going to be hurt. Alberto presses one hand against Alex’s back, pushing his face into the pillows. It’s going to hurt and he’s going to hurt, but oh God, Jesus and Mother Mary it’s going to feel so good! Alberto presses the tip of his cock against the tight opening, pressing his lips together in anticipation and hears the first perfectly distinct sob. 

“I can’t.”

Alberto doesn’t realize it’s his own voice, until Alex’s whimpering has stopped and he’s turned around to look back at the hesitating Italian.

“I hate you, but I can’t hurt you like this.”

“Berto? What are you…”

“My name is Alberto. Please don’t say that again…”

Alex (God, he IS Alex. He is no Duck) turns around and sits up on his knees and pulls Alberto against him, “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

“I need to get out of here.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Alberto wants to scream his list, wants to break this boy over the bed for even asking such a question, for looking so beautifully sincere when he asks it, “You were brilliant. As always.”

The Duck doesn’t smile. Alex doesn’t smile. Alberto is shocked by this. In his mind, the Duck answers all his praise with a smile. But Alex… Alex licks his lips and looks down between them at Alberto’s still leaking erection. His lips are shiny with spit as he crawls down before Alberto and takes the tip in his mouth with a hesitant glance, moving his tongue over the slit roughly. 

Alberto comes quickly and without a sound. He doesn’t encourage Alex to swallow, but the boy does it anyway, makes a face when he finishes and slipping out of bed to the bathroom where Alberto can here him washing his mouth out. Alberto is not offended. He supposes it must be an acquired taste. He has just started to collect his clothes when Alex comes out and knocks them out of his hands, almost giggling.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” Alberto whispers, “I want to go home.”

Alex’s lips are pressed together and he looks amazing, standing there, limp and almost pale in the reflecting light from the bathroom, “I want you to stay.”

Alberto doesn’t fight the arms that wrap around him and tuck him in bed, doesn’t fight the careful kiss that is placed on the back of his neck.

“I hate you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I hate you.”

Alex buries his face in Alberto’s back and nods, “I know.”

\-- end


End file.
